I can go climbing with it every day
Here in Briançon, you occasionally see a child climbing up an overhanging wall. Young talents, not yet in puberty, with lean bodies that seem to consist only of the necessary mechanics. Not an ounce more.
They often say: she/he doesn’t have any weight (yet) to hoist up. And I end up thinking the same, but not without a bit of pain in my heart. I can’t deny that there’s an ideal weight-to-strength ratio for an ambitious climber’s body compared to other weight-to-strength ratios.
The question that can be asked, however, is what exactly is the ambition of such a climber's body. Answer: to climb harder? Another possible answer: to learn and have fun, but I understand that you find that vague, so let's pretend for this story that learning and having fun don't exist and we only want to climb harder. What is the ideal weight-to-strength ratio then?
An ideal weight-to-strength-energy-motivation-happiness-self-confidence-technique-concentration-determination-mental-tool-experience-support ratio. Do you know that one already?
By support I mean, for example, climbing partners who support and believe in you, not your boyfriend who makes the wrong comments impatiently at the end of the rope. I also think you need to learn to deal with the experience of any fears above the clip, and that's why I included the mental tools. So, weight is in relation to at least ten other important factors. And if I take a look around at the crag, I often can't help but conclude that climbers have much more to gain in climbing level by tweaking their mental state, social climbing environment, or technique rather than their—often already minimal—weight.
"But weight is so easy to adjust," a friend said to me recently. "Compared to those other things."
Indeed, it is quite a mission to bring order to an anxious climber's brain or to swap the boyfriend for an empathetic one. But I have a fierce distrust of weight-loss missions in a climbing context, and I'll explain why.
Let me use myself as a case study.
The Body Image of the Potato
I am an average person (someone with all sorts of very recognizable human emotions) with average (lack of) self-confidence, and I spent many hours in my youth, like many others, insecure in front of the mirror. I am now 32 years old and generally OK with the way my body looks, although I have better and worse days. Because I closely monitor my mind, I do know that there are still many thoughts about valuing my own body or that of others. Fortunately, I almost always see these judgments for what they are (passing thoughts) and rarely let them affect my mood anymore. I haven't paid attention to what I eat for over five years.
This all sounds pretty solid, but it remains a slight struggle. The world still ruthlessly celebrates the slender body and thus feeds my thought machine day in and day out. That's precisely why I have to keep a close watch on my mind.
What bothers me so much about striving for a slender climber's body are two worrying tendencies I can distinguish in myself:
That I use the pursuit of being thinner for climbing as an excuse to secretly chase the celebrated thin ideal again, as I used to. Do I really want to be thinner to climb harder, or do I secretly want to be thinner for the image? Can I really separate those two motives after living in this body-obsessed society for so many years?
It's very close, but still: if I'm not careful, I don't idealize the thin girls on the catwalk or Queen B of the village, but the extremely thin yet muscular climbers on my screen or in my environment. It's a climber's aesthetic that I've come to admire or become jealous of, against my will.
I don't want my favorite sport to be infiltrated by beauty ideals that I have such a terrible dislike for because they've undermined my self-confidence for so long. One of the most beautiful things about climbing, in my opinion, is that it can be a breeding ground for self-confidence, an opportunity to discover and trust the capacity of your body and mind, an invitation to intensely experience the moment itself. Thoughts about being thin enough can only distract from that. Being insecure about your body is an attention-consuming, in my opinion very ugly and pointless activity that should have no place at the base of the crag. It’s sacrilege to me.
How nice it is, to be light
Of course, it’s not for me to judge climbers who lose weight for climbing. People sometimes say they feel better in a lean, trained body, and I can’t argue with that. My weight fluctuates naturally, and the effect on my climbing is negligible compared to the effect of my varying mental state, but we all have different bodies and minds. I can imagine that the thought of being lighter, where lightness is so celebrated in the climbing community, might contribute just as much to how we experience our bodies on the wall as the actual lost two kilos.
In any case, I can't untangle the tangle of motivations to possibly lose weight myself and therefore continue to find it a risky endeavor—for me and for others. Additionally, a truth is growing, like a little rosebush, that is becoming increasingly firmly anchored in my mind: the shape of my body is the result of the activities I like to do and the food I like to eat when I'm hungry. The appreciation of my body must come from what I can do or experience with it. I find my body capable, loyal, strong, and healthy, and… I can go climbing with it every day.
